Out of Reach
by Avoireux
Summary: Hiroshi Yuna. Not only is she the daughter of one of Easter's subordinates—she is their prisoner. While she is twisted in the midst of the company's manipulation, Yuna is desperate to search for an escape to freedom. But what she least expects is the mutual intent and support from one of Easter's underlings. Ikuto X OC.
1. I

_**Hello readers, Avoireux here.**_

 _ **Nothing much to say here other than a disclaimer & that I will not be using Japanese honorifics. This Fanfiction is inspired by a book I recently read called 'Out of Control' by Sarah Alderson. I thoroughly enjoyed it & I'd like to recommend it to the rest of my readers out there. **_

_**So without further ado, let's begin!**_

 _ **Disclaimer : I do not own Shugo Chara. All copyrights go to the manga author duo Peach-Pit. The only original characters I do own so far are Hiroshi Yuna and Hiroshi Inada.**_

* * *

 _Chapter 1 - Eyes Like Fire_

The spacious room seems to revolve around me while my feet keep my posture in balance. I take control of the ground as it immensely rumbles in unison to both the music and to the thunder hammering in my chest. A large blanket of sweat envelops me as I finally collapse onto the ground with a finishing pose. The bass in the stereos quietly mute, and I listen to nothing but the roaring sound of the blood that pounds between my ears. I look up at the reflection of my panting self, bright round scorching eyes glowering at me. For a moment, it's difficult to tell what's real and not real through the 20-foot wide wall-mounted mirror. It's as if I were watching a horror movie, like the being that revealed my appearance was about to emerge and attack.

Was that really me just now?

I finally come to my senses and briskly hoist myself up. I see a small sweat stain on the floor mat that I recently recover from. My teeth grit in disgust as I quickly wipe the mess with my sock, averting towards the row of chairs that perch themselves near the door. They sit neatly against the wall with a water bottle and a small washcloth on one of the seats. I hastily grab the bottle and begin sucking out of the container, as my other hand reaches for the damp washcloth without guidance and slips it onto my forehead. I allow my eyes to rest and let out a sigh of exhaustion.

This week seems more tiring than usual. I wonder if it involves my father reassigning to this company last month, some company called Easter.

In fact, I'm currently in the building, on the 29th floor. It's quiet and deserted, and I don't mind it one bit, other than the imprisonment. It was supposedly emptied years ago since Easter had no use for the entire floor. Nobody wanted to work under the consistent noises that emitted from the roof vents. Nobody appreciated the wall tears and pipe creaks. I am the one that is trapped in here. Or rather, Easter used whatever they had left as a tower for poor Rapunzel.

But they won't let me go home, to sleep in my own bed or to wake up and attend school, or to even see my father. They don't want me out of their sight.

I don't know what I am doing here or why, but it must concern my father. For someone who is trapped here, I consider myself somewhat lucky. It's not everyday that a prisoner has a whole company floor to themselves, despite the condition. I'm somewhat satisfied with the fact that nobody can disturb me or complain how my music's too loud, but it was one of the only things I was not irked to receive when my father and I moved to Tokyo. Besides having the entire 29th floor to myself, the other benefits were the vacancy of the rooftop and the busy streets, which wait for me directly above this floor. I hope not to get involved with Easter too much, since I've been treated like a lab rat recently, with them asking personal questions, taking blood samples and whatnot. I be careful not to reveal too much.

I wipe a hand across my brow, slicking back some hair that's come loose. God, that session felt good, like I was burning some of the excessive emotions. I feel calmer now, less tense.

Until I hear an unfamiliar voice in the region. "So this is the ruckus that I have to listen to everyday?"

My head jerks towards the doorway, eyes meeting with sharp grey ones. A woman, wearing a yellow business uniform with oval-shaped glasses, raises an eyebrow at me and folds her arms. But as she inspects me for a while, a hand suddenly reaches towards the rim of her glasses, tilting them down the bridge of her nose to get a better look at me.

"Oh? Aren't you Hiroshi's daughter?" Her expression changes as she steps into the room to absorb a few glances. "What are you doing causing a riot in here? It's practical for you to have some common courtesy and not disturb other workers."

The woman has her back towards me with hands on her hips as she examines the peeling corners of the ceiling. I can easily see her reaction through the smudged mirror as her face clearly distorts with remorse.

"Honestly." She shakes her head and massages her temples with a sigh. The woman turns to me. "For a rich kid, you have some low standards. If you want to perform with that type of music up here, at least consult with your father first."

I shrug and carefully bite back my words, "I prefer to be alone."

She gives me a look and lifts an eyebrow.

"Working as an individual... I rather not involve my father," I quickly add, skirting my eyes towards the mirror. "I was assigned to this floor by Director Hoshina."

"Is that so?" She trails her remarking words and scans me up and down.

A glare emits from the rims of her glasses as she tilts her head upwards, still eyeing me. I catch a look of realization in her opaque eyes. She knows something that I don't.

"Well, if that's the case, I'd best leave you alone. I advise that you turn that racket down, just a bit." She hastily reaches for the door, displaying a smirk before making departure. I cringe at the sound of her heels hitting against the mats.

"Or rather, don't play it at all."

I could hear her footsteps trailing through the hallway and the elevator bell ringing at her request. I let out a sigh and sneak a gander out the 20-foot wide window. It resembles the mirror so much that I can clearly see myself approaching me as I cross to the glass.

I guess the music complaints are crossed off the _Things Not To Worry About_ list.

It's sweltering hot, the air in the room is torpid and thick as a quilt. I'm wearing only cotton shorts and a loose tank top that I was given. My fist clenches against the glass as I lean my forehead and visualize the diversity of lights that paint the streets like a canvas. It is so beautiful that I can't remember why I'm disturbed. I let out a robust exhale and descend myself onto the blue mat. My arm covers my eyes and I allow the weight of it to put me to sleep.

When can I finally escape from this prison?

* * *

I find myself lying on the cold hard ground of the building's rooftop. The night turns chilly as the goosebumps that prickle my arms surge through my entire body, and I'm left with nothing but a ruthless shiver. The building seems to be breathing. There's a slight ticking noise coming from the clock downstairs, the hum of the AC ventilation, the trickling _tink_ of the plumbing, and the occasional sound of a car sweeping past on the isolated street below. I lift my chest up, gathering my knees and glance past the edge of the roof to capture the captivating scenery of Tokyo. I scramble to a stand as I swing my legs over the bar and help myself to the front seat view of the world. I glance down and approximate the height of the building, scaling the length to see if it would be critical to jump off.

I raise my legs to a stand, grabbing onto the bar behind me. The face-to-face meeting with possible death is enthralling, and I feel almost tempted to do so. It would be worth it if I could explore the streets in one piece.

And I almost consider it.

"You're not going to jump, are you?"

Without even pivoting to see who it is, I already recognize the voice. I could just _feel_ him approaching me, despite how quiet his movements are. I refuse to acknowledge him and continue to face my back at him, silently bidding farewell to the beautiful lights.

"I wasn't." I partially fib. "Not like it would have mattered. I wouldn't die from this height. That flagpole would break my fall."

The boy wounds up next to me, and as I expect, murky cobalt colored hair emerges from the corner of my eye. He briefly admires the view before following my gaze towards the empty lot below.

"I don't know," he murmurs with hands in his pockets and his back in a slouched position. "I'd picture you in an ambulance by now if I didn't say anything."

"I just wanted to see the view," I say, hoisting my legs back on the bar. I leave out the part about the rush I felt from standing so high above the city, the real reason why I have the urge to jump. I can't explain to him the sense of victory I had standing on the lip of the roof, my arms and legs burning with the sensation of freedom. Or the way my blood flowed like quicksilver through my veins, as fast as when I finish dancing.

"What's it to you anyways, don't you have somewhere else to be?"

I sneak a look at his indigo eyes, which are almost as colorless as mine, except his are filled with stars and wonder, the same emotions I feel when I catch a glimpse of Tokyo. I only visualize envy, as I'm envious of the prepossessing city. Or maybe I'm just imagining things and all I'm seeing is the reflection of the city lights in the center of his iris. Shortly, his eyes turn dark as he peers at me. He doesn't answer. He just fixes me with a stare. He holds my gaze for just a second and then looks away, down at the gloaming houses in the vicinity.

"I have no business with you, other than to make sure you stay put." His crisp words interrupt my conscious and I feel my gut being punched, hard.

I go quiet, knowing I shouldn't have inquired him like that. My lips purse together in an edged line as I take a sharp inhale through my nose.

"Is that what Director Hoshina asked you to do, be my bodyguard so that I don't run away?"

Once more, I receive no response. He gives me a stare that I assume is something he learned from Easter or however they train these businessmen, a look that's designed to intimidate me into rolling over and complying, but I don't give a care in the world. I don't give a damn what he thinks. I just want to escape.

From the corner of my eye, I can catch him smirking mischievously, and for some odd reason it causes me to mimic that smile. The rest of our conversation goes silent, as neither of us choose to do anything but to gander at the lights dimming after midnight.

I'm amazed that I manage to speak. "I never got your name."

The boy shoots an expressionless look at me before returning his mindless gaze at a sparkling object in his hand. He opens his hand like a blossoming flower, revealing a white key that is shaped like a four-leaf clover. Before I can sneak an inspection upon it, he notices me staring, since he snatches it away and stashes it in his front pocket.

"Ikuto," he says and leans closer to the bar. "Tsukiyomi Ikuto."

"Hiroshi Yuna."

Ikuto reveals a small smile and lifts the corners of his eyes towards the concealed moon. You can see it in his face, how badly he yearns its embrace.

"I know," he tells me, and I don't question how.

Despite only having silent and unintentional meetings with him for a couple of weeks, I feel as if I've known Ikuto longer, just by reading the emotions in his eyes. It seems silly too, that I just learn his name, and with a mysterious individual like him, it'd normally be frustrating to communicate. Instead, I allow his presence to enfold me, with nobody else to occupy me, and I accept the company of his silence.

But as we stay like this for the rest of the night, a couple of feet away from each other, legs stiff, eyes that gleam and brim with curiosity, I stupidly smile at the thought. Suddenly it wasn't cold anymore.

We wait until dawn arrives.


	2. II

_Chapter 2 - Escape_

As soon as I step out of the shower, I find a neat pile of black clothes resting on the glass table, except that an excessive amount was given compared to what I found when I woke up. Did somebody come up to my floor again today? Was it the lady in yellow?

I have to remind myself that the entire floor, no matter how vacant and spacious, is just a cage. It's so rare that I get to see visitors, other than Ikuto. Every morning when I wake up, something different would appear on that same glass table in the middle room. It isn't just the variety of clothes that are inaccurate, I discover an unusual egg camouflaging in an ivory cloth that spreads throughout my bed. It definitely was not there before. If that egg was sent up by an Easter employee, they would have set it on the glass table with a card indicating the items given. Clenching the towel around me, I approach the folded piece of paper only to find that just _clothes_ and _toiletry_ were listed. Nothing about a white egg.

With curiosity getting to the better of me, I cross over to the other side of the room and observe the round egg in an intrigued manner. I have the nerve to pick it up with my free hand, and surprisingly, it's extremely warm, like it's been inside an incubator for at least an hour. I bring my face even closer to it, feeling it's warmth on the bridge of my nose as if it breathed onto my skin. I crinkle my nose before closely examining it. The creamy whiteness that engulfs the egg allows the illustrated leaves to pop out in color, and I discover golden ribbons framing the top and bottom, revealing its fullness. In just a blink of an eye, I swear I hearken either a heartbeat or a crack slice through the eerie silence that had been annexing the room.

"It's alive…" I manage to whisper aloud. This egg isn't just for decor, something living is inside.

My ears suddenly stand erect from the sound of the elevator bell. Someone came to visit _again_ , and somehow panic rises up to my throat instead of curiosity. I quickly shove the egg back into the smooth handkerchief, folding it under my pillow and I scamper towards the entry of the hallway. I hastily grab a bathrobe from the restroom, tying it around my waist before advancing into the next room.

Walking through the elevator doors with hands stuffed in his pockets, a man in a yellow suit glances around the hall before he lifts his head and stares directly at me. He's not even fazed that I decide to confront him wearing a bathrobe. The menacing smile that he sends me strips me naked underneath. It brings a shudder down my spine, and I clasp my hand onto the waist of the robe, as well as my dignity. This is the first time I see an employee of Easter walk through the elevator in the middle of daylight, and I seize the chance to take in his features.

His sharp jawline intensifies the intimidation in his eyes, and the way his coffee-colored hair is shaped brings out the roundness of his face. I notice his golden eyes are much brighter than Ikuto's when I'm this close to him, but I'm unable to read his expression. I realize now that he's wearing the same exact suit as the lady who paid me a visit yesterday. It must be the company's uniform.

"Hiroshi Yuna, yes?" His voice is high pitched, almost like a female's, and he masks a welcoming smile for me. "Will you come with me please? The Director says it's urgent."

With a frown, I reluctantly obey, watching as the man places a palm onto the touch screen beside the elevator buttons. I gawk at the sensor reading his handprint while the doors open and accesses entrance. He encircles his hand around my upper wrist, and I see his effortless smile twitching. He harshly tugs my arm, beckoning me to follow him. Before I could walk into the unfamiliar room, I instinctively slap the man's hand away. The expression he gives me sends a wave of anxiety through my knees, and I nearly buckle. I make an effort to comprehend his illegible face, but I know he wants me to cooperate and follow him.

He's willing to threaten me.

"At least let me change," I blurt and gesture to my wet hair and robe, creating distance between us. "I was given extra clothes."

The man's frown deepens at the caution I take.

After a moment I begin to stutter. Directly talking to this man was like stepping into a dragon's den. I open and close my mouth like a mutated, disabled goldfish, attempting to choose my words wisely.

"Surely the Director wouldn't want me to greet him in this fashion," I protest.

He fixes his eyes on me, as they suddenly turn cold and ominous. I grasp tightly onto the softness of my robe without being aware of it. The room seems to spin and dip as though it's a carnival ride. It takes me a moment before watching the man blink once that I snap myself into reality. He lets out a soft scoff, averting his back towards me with hands in his pockets and leans against the elevator door. In an instant, his voice deepens, and it is more sinister compared to when I first greet him.

"Hurry." He mutters under his breath. "Don't keep me waiting."

I don't hesitate to leave.

* * *

I quickly collect any necessary belongings. My dead cell phone, extra clothes and undergarments, stacks of money that my father stashed away, and…

I am about to skirt out the door with a small duffle bag until the thought of the white egg intrudes my mind. I pivot to my bed and immediately release my bag with a light _thud_ , shuffling through my blankets and tossing my pillow aside. Except the egg is gone. It disappeared. Only the wrinkly handkerchief lays there dog-eared and abandoned. My eyes widen with awe, as I shove all of my blankets to one side of the bed and continue to disarray my sheets. Where is it? It couldn't have gone far. My biggest mystery just vanished without a trace. I halt my brief frenzy and my heart sinks with slight disappointment.

I don't delay on returning to the elevator. This is my only chance of escaping and I'm definitely going to take it. I grit my teeth and tighten my fists, tucking the bag behind and under my sweatshirt and scanning the rest of the rooms for any other important items.

I find myself in the kitchen, opening the fridge door to find nothing but a couple of apples that I previously refused to eat. I snatch one and take a large bite out of it, tossing it into the trash after wringing my face in disgust. I continue to skim the room until my gaze lands on the knife stand. I unsheathe one from its pocket, fingers trembling at the thought of having to use it. It wouldn't be for cooking, that's for sure. I want to search for my father. I want him to take both of us home. I need answers, and a way to get out of here.

I stash the knife behind my shorts, thinking how ridiculous I am. I promptly confront the man in the yellow suit, making a lame excuse and blabbering on how I needed to pee. But he doesn't show any sign of concern. He remains quiet, and motions me to stay close to him. This man is certainly vigilant and he doesn't want me to leave his side, he wants me to stay and assure that I don't escape. I have a sudden urge to spit on his shoes in chagrin, but instead I calmly step into the elevator, inwardly sighing of relief that he doesn't notice the large lump sticking out of my back.

We descend about a decade floors, silence separating us the whole way. The elevator doors swiftly open and the next thing I know, the man is dragging me down the hall with his hand clamped around my wrist. He doesn't want me to escape, and he knows it. All the talk I had with Ikuto about the thrill of being free makes me wish he was holding my wrist instead of this man. I want to see him, even if it's on the rooftop. Being with him makes me feel at ease, instead of being confiscated. As a prisoner. All of these thoughts have me biting my lip in frustration.

"Where are you taking me?" I ask the man. The silence is killing me.

I barely see the corner of his eye while his lips curve into a baleful smirk.

"Why, the Director's office, of course." I hear his feminine tone again. "We have some things to discuss with you regarding your contract. This will include the consult of Hiroshi Inada."

I nearly choke hearing the name of my father, and I snort in disbelief. Something doesn't feel right, is not adding up. After everything that's occurred when I arrive to Easter, trusting anyone, let alone someone who claims to personally know my father, feels like madness. I don't believe this man. I glare daggers at him in an attempt to gain some answers.

"What contract?" I ask. "I didn't hear about any contract. How do you know my father, and how is he involved?"

The man pauses and his eyes flick over my shoulder. He is becoming impatient, I can tell from the flinch in his malicious smile. "Now, now. If you behave nicely and do as I say, maybe the Director will answer them for you."

The urgency in his voice doesn't pass me by. His hand is already gripping my elbow and he's steering me towards the end of the hallway. I glance at the pale hand that is clasped onto my arm, noticing the skin whiten from how tight he holds. A warning signal flares in my body that I instinctively try to quell. If he's telling the truth, that my father will be there, he will explain that everything is alright. My questions will be answered, just like this man says. But if that's the case, then why are the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end? Every nerve ending in my body currently feels electrified.

I hesitate. I hear my conscious telling me to listen to my instincts, always to trust them because, unlike people, instincts never lie. This man is lying to me. He senses my indecision and he now firmly tightens his grip with each step I take, and I wince, burying a cry in the depths of my throat. I force myself to a halt, nearly kicking the man's leg in the process.

He turns with clenched teeth. "Hiroshi," he says, his tone more strained and masculine now, "please cooperate."

I twist my arm so that he's now fully facing me, and as he does, I realize what it is that's bothering me. Why this man? Couldn't the Director have just sent up Ikuto to escort me? Isn't he the one responsible for my "safety"?

The man's expression is now showing more infuriation than ever, and my instincts are commanding me to seize my opportunity for freedom. I take a small step backward, and the man moves instantly for my lower arm, as if he's prepared to break it. Before I can make a move, he snatches my other arm and folds both limbs behind my back like paper, pain surging throughout my joints. I let out a cry and unconsciously stomp on his foot. As soon as I hear him howl and feel my arms come loose, I push past the man in the yellow suit, and I just run.

I start down the opposite direction and briskly make a sharp turn. My pulse skips erratically and then starts to race. I immediately begin to panic since I have no clue where I'm heading. Easter is a twisted maze, since every door and hallway look exactly identical.

I finally come across a door that the 29th floor doesn't have and peek through the rectangular window, discovering a stairway. A wave of relief rushes into my head. I don't wait to figure out where I'm heading or to invest in a plan. I just firmly grasp onto the strap of my duffle bag, push the door open, and dive down the stairs.


	3. III

**Friendly reminder:** _Italicized_ _takes place in the past;_ normal is present.

* * *

 _Chapter 3 - Brinkmanship_

 _I inhale the scent of my father's cologne, tightening the firm grasp I hold on his sleeve. My other hand is dragging the suitcase that he asks me to carry. We're entering the lobby of a company building that's labeled_ Easter _on the engraved stone out front. It's strangely quiet and I try to match my pulse to the light tapping that my shoes make as I walk._

 _I'm dead anxious. My father probably noticed by now. He places a hand on my shoulder as I release his sleeve. "Thank you for coming, Yuna. I don't know what I'd do without you."_

 _I suddenly feel relieved. I look up at his smiling face, grinning at him. "Sure." I say. "Where should I put your suitcase?"_

 _He pauses for a moment and takes out a piece of paper from his briefcase. His fleeting eyes momentarily scan the page before flipping it over and back again, defeat written all over his face._

" _Hm…" He mutters under his breath. "Wait here, I'll go talk to the receptionist."_

 _I nod, helping myself to the sofa near the restrooms. I observe the magazines in front of me, finding a pretty girl with blonde pigtails posing on both covers. Butterflies accessorize the margin and the pages are filled with her in different clothing. She looks strangely familiar, her unsmiling face, yet I can't put my finger on it. I'm about to pick one up to flip through until I hear footsteps approaching me, and it brings me out of my train of thought. I retract my hand and place it on my lap. It's only a few moments before my father returns with an agitated look as he avoids eye contact with me._

 _My eyebrows furrow together. "Something wrong?" I ask._

 _My father reaches over for his suitcase and lets out a sigh. "It's not important. Let's head upstairs."_

 _He takes his belongings and walks over to the elevator room. I hastily follow him._

* * *

 _I stand in the grand hallway of the 20th floor, rocking my heels back and forth against the wall. My father disappeared into the large room that has a golden plaque with the name_ Kazuomi Hoshina _written next to the door. I assume that is the name of the man who will hire my father. There's no doubt he'll get the job._

 _I suddenly hear muffled shouts and curses originating from the director's room. My spine bolts straight up in astonishment, preparing myself to barge through the doors until I see the security guard stand in front of me and scowl, shaking his head. I ball my fists, silently cursing at the guard. What does he expect me to do, stay here like a sitting duck? I groan in frustration and find myself walking away from the guard. I was beginning to grow impatient after waiting for about an hour outside. Not only that, the security was starting to get on my last nerve. It was the third time they wouldn't let me in through the doors._

 _I'm strolling through the hallways, mindlessly wandering and hoping I end up in a place where I wouldn't have to listen to the bickering. I recall the blurry memory of hearing my father yell about absurdity, how it was ridiculous to take something away from people. What was he talking about? I shake the thought out of my head, only because I bump into something firm, like someone's chest. I recoil with an_ oof _, stepping away from the tall shadow. I glance up at the face above me, suddenly meeting dark blue orbs. This person's eyes instantly speak to me, like they're yearning for something, something he lost. I dumbfoundingly stand there with silence emitting between us. I hastily murmur a quick apology before pushing past the stranger._

" _Is he in there?" The stranger abruptly asks._

 _I assume he's talking to me, so I stop in my tracks and spin around with a raised eyebrow. "Excuse me?"_

" _The Director." The boy pivots so that he's facing me with hands shoved in his pockets. He looks at me with a blank, yet negative expression. "Is he in his office?"_

 _I nod, pointing in the other direction. "He's talking with someone, so you should wait outside."_

 _He makes a noise, a grunt of approval. I expect him to leave but he doesn't budge. He stands there and stares out the window, eyes lost in thought. I now notice the white violin case that he has over his shoulder, and how tightly he secures it in his hand. I ponder on his musical affinity, it must mean something to him._

" _You play?" I ask him out of curiosity._

 _The boy realizes that I catch a glimpse of his instrument case. He snaps out of his daydream and briefly glances at it over his shoulder before skirting his eyes over to me._

 _"Yeah." He says._

 _"Can I see?"_

 _Slowly and with hesitation, he nods. I always had an attraction to music, and I still do. I could never create it, but I could dance to it. I love the exhilaration of the movement and the way my roaring blood deluges me._

 _The boy kneels on the ground and fumbles with the lock before the case pops open. He rotates it so that it's facing me and fragilely lifts the violin. The smooth texture of the instrument's wood glistens in the sunlight from the window behind him. It's absolutely beautiful. I can already hear its strings, the tears and laughter that it could attract… I have a strong urge to touch it, but I dare not to._

 _Instead, I ask, "Could you play a piece for me, please?"_

" _Not here." The boy's already placing the violin back in its case. He's so protective of it, but I can somewhat understand why. It must be his most valuable possession. I watch as he closes it with a soft click, and he swiftly hoists the case over his shoulder. Our eyes suddenly meet, and the two of us unexpectedly stand absolutely frozen. I can't tear my eyes away from his. I'm suddenly trapped in a trance. The indigo in his orbs captivate me, and I cannot stop gawking at the girl with grey eyes and light brown hair lost in the reflection of his eyes._

" _Next time, I'll consider it." He suddenly says, breaking the awkward tension between us. He talks as if he knows we'll meet again, and with that he turns in the other direction._

 _I now see him continue his way, facing his back towards me and I aimlessly gape at his figure growing farther and farther away. I smile to myself for the first time since I arrived._

* * *

I slam into the door at the bottom of the stairway and yank it open, falling into another fork in the hallway in a tumult of uneasiness and adrenaline. I'm somewhere in Easter, drenched in sweat, all alone, and I'm completely lost. I peer out a nearby window to see that I'm only a few floors away from reaching ground level. At this point, all I can think about is moving. I need to get out of here. But where? And how? I glance back at the path that I come from to only realize that there aren't any descending stairs on this floor. A wave of perturbation rushes through my limbs, and I force myself to quickly think. My head flies back and forth, searching in every direction, my eyes peeled for any sign of escape. I think I spy a familiar yellow suit in the distance and my heart leaps into my throat, pulsing violently. But then the person comes nearer and I see it's a regular employee wearing a yellow track jacket emblazoned with the word _Easter_ on the side. He's whistling a happy tune as he casually walks by me, as if he doesn't recognize that I'm not supposed to be down here. My heart plummets back into my chest as I tell myself to relax. It's fine. I'm safe, for now. I have no choice but to keep running down one path. Simultaneously, I watch the windows that flicker past me and picture the distance between me and the ground floor. I think to myself how crazy I must be, but promptly shake the thought out of my head. Luckily, I see the elevator room to my right, and I dive in. Only that there's one problem.

A keypad is bolted between the up and down arrows, and I hear the vibration of the hand motion sensor reverberating across the room. Crap, what should I do? There's no doubt the handprint won't match mine, and I have no clue what the keypad combination is. I inwardly strangle my hair and clench my throat. I'm so nervous at this point, I feel as if my heart is ready to implode. I let out a prolonged exhale through my nose in attempt to steady my pulse, grasping a more secure grip onto my bag strap. I make my way out of the room with my head held high and resume my path down the hall.

I hear a voice that has my stomach plummeting down to the ground. "What are you doing here?"

I nearly have my hand on the knife as I turn to the source of the voice, but immediately retract it after connecting my eyes with subtle blue ones. I almost lose my breath and my senses altogether. I'm not sure whether I should be alarmed or relieved.

"Ikuto…" I manage, stunned by his appearance. I see his firm gaze fixing me in place. It's one of those demanding faces he gives me, telling me to answer him, to obey him. I don't know how to respond. Should I tell him the truth?

I have to remind myself that he wants the same thing as I do.

My eyes fall to the white violin case that he has behind his shoulder. This is the second time I see it, and I've never heard him play before. On the handle of the case, I see a shimmering object wrapping itself around a gold chain, and I realize it's the key that I caught Ikuto staring at the previous night. He must have noticed my duffle bag, since he approaches me and glowers his eyes directly into mine. They scorch with vexation.

"Are you trying to run away," he asks, softening his voice, "when I'm right in front of you, standing in your way to your freedom?"

My mind whirs from his words, leaving me astounded. I look at Ikuto, my eyes trembling with confusion yet hope. But he just gives me that perfect blank stare of his. I open my mouth to fire back some razor-sharp retort, but the look on his face silences me. He seems deeply sad, can barely hold my gaze. The air leaves my lungs in a blast. He has the expression of a doctor before they give you a fatal diagnosis. I frown at the boy, tightening my fists and chest.

"You don't have to be in my way." I shove a gulp down my throat and stare straight into his mesmerizing eyes.

"Come with me, we can run away." I blurt. I start to ramble. "You don't have to listen to them anymore."

"Please." I say when he stands there absentmindedly and doesn't respond. "We'll finally be free. Isn't that what you want?"

The look in Ikuto's eyes darken, and for the first time since I've met him, I fear for what ensues. He brings his face close to mine, lowering it to my ear, and I can feel his warm breath on my neck with his hair brushing against my cheek. Suddenly, I can no longer feel the gentleness of Ikuto's presence.

"You don't understand," he murmurs, "you never will."

In an instant, I feel a sharp jab in the flesh between my neck and shoulder, and my head starts to waver. My knees grow weak, but I make an effort to suppress it and keep my posture still. I slap a hand on where the pain throbs, clenching and bending my fingers with sheer force. What's happening to me? My eyelids grow heavy, and I soon turn weak. I hear a chuckle coming from behind and I recognize the malicious voice. It's a horrifying sound. My spine shudders, and that's when fear truly begins to engulf me. My body stays absolutely still. I can't budge an inch.

"Thank you, Mr. Black Cat." I hear the man purr, and I weakly roll my eyes to peer behind me. It's the man in the yellow suit, and I see a syringe between his fingers and it's dripping sediment. I widen my eyes in horror. What did he insert into my body? Panic rushes into my head, and I manage to turn back to Ikuto. He's not looking at me, but at the man with the same sorrowful look that always burdens him. My chest infuriates in flames. It burns with anger and betrayal. I reach for my knife as my last resort and with every inch of strength I can muster, I aim the blade downwards and briskly shove it in the man's direction.

But I'm too slow to apply force, the sediment taking major effect. He dodges it to the left without any effort and snatches my wrist, confining me in place.

"Whew, that was a close one." He fakes a sweat and grins widely with amusement. He's talking like a female again, and my stomach flips so violently that I almost gag.

His other arm suddenly comes at me, a hand pinning my other wrist to the wall. I'm shoved against the hard surface with such force that I let out a scream, which becomes a cry as a sharp pain shoots up my arm. I drop the knife I had been holding and it clatters to the floor. I buck and try to kick at the man, but whatever was inserted into my veins is restraining me from any forceful movements.

"Now, where did you get such a dangerous weapon, Miss Hiroshi?" He bends down to pick it up, his hand still cuffing my wrist. The man examines the handle of the knife, catching a glimpse of the brand. I notice a scowl and he has a more serious look plastered on his face. He tosses the weapon aside as if it's garbage to him.

"Tch, a kitchen knife? Insulting."

I see the back of his hand coming straight at me, and I brace for it, but there is no impact. A weak exhale escapes through my lips, and I gingerly flutter my eyes open. Ikuto has his hand hauling the man's arm, and both of them are glaring at each other, each side struggling to contain their strength.

"Hey, Nikaidou." Ikuto has a strained look on his face. "Isn't this going too far? You're scaring her. This is the exact opposite of what the Director wants."

"You're one to talk." The man, Nikaidou, scoffs, throwing Ikuto's grip off. He turns to me, sending me his sinister smile. I can picture every muscle on his face twitching with agitation. "This brat is getting on my last nerve. She just tried to stab me. How rude."

He releases me and I immediately collapse to the ground, scrambling to get on my knees. It's difficult for me to absorb a breath, and I can hear myself wheezing for consciousness. I reach out my quivering hand in attempt to take the knife, but it's promptly kicked away by a black shoe. I instantly peer up, flinching at Ikuto's cold expression. He acts as if he did nothing and shoves his hands in his pockets like usual. He rests his eyes shut, like he refuses to see my face. I see him tilt his head to the side so that I can't read his eyes. My fists constrict in acrimony. I helplessly watch as he makes his way past Nikaidou, attempting to disappear.

The man's eyes follow him and he raises an eyebrow with interest, letting out a chuckle before vigorously heaving me off the ground. I wince at the strenuous movement, choking out a whimper. Something is rising up my throat and I force out a disturbing cough, trying to get Ikuto's attention.

"Why?" I gasp, churning in Nikaidou's arms as I waste my breath bawling at the back of Ikuto's head, but it's no use. The man rattles me and tightens his grasp on my arm, and Ikuto doesn't bother. Without turning back, the boy resumes down the hall. It's torture to me, losing his presence and listening to his footfalls fading.

Nikaidou descends his lips to my ear. "Try anything, and I won't hesitate to break an arm."

"Bite me." I automatically growl at him, sending him a piercing gaze which comes from all the hatred I have left for Easter.

I seize this chance and smack my forehead against his, my foot immediately reacting and kicking him in the shin. I hear a hiss from Nikaidou but his recoil is ephemeral. He's persistent, he keeps a robust grasp onto me and swings his other arm to land a blow on me. I scream and distort my face, choking for air and coughing out spit. He grabs me by the collar of my sweatshirt, my colorless eyes tearing up and I can't visualize the horrendous twisting lips that Nikaidou plays on his face. We hold our stares for what seems like eternity, as if the intensities that we emit are sparring. With the last effort I can spurt, I slap my hand onto his arm that yanks my sweatshirt, burying my nails into his skin. My eyes are heavy and weak, but I struggle to show no fear and nearly snap when his amber orbs begin to reach into my soul.

" _Release me!"_ I shriek my last breath out of my throat.

And as if my prayers had been heard, a blinding surge of light radiates between Nikaidou and I. Time seems to slow as though it's slipped into freeze-frame mode. Half of Nikaidou's face is frozen still with bewilderment, the other half grimacing of either shock or agony. I can no longer compete my strength with him, and I relax the tension from my sore limbs. I mindlessly watch the window as a small, fairy-like being the size of a fat candle intercepts my view. It glances into my eyes and whispers something to me that I cannot comprehend. My eyes glue shut together, and I don't have the energy to lift them open. I feel my body crashing against the wall, my conscious going dark. The last thing I remember hearing is a high pitched voice crackling in the midst of the hallway, calling my name.

* * *

 _ **A/N:** **Hello all! Thank you for getting this far, it's been fun :) I'd appreciate a couple of follows or reviews to start off this FanFiction. Let me know what you guys think!**_


	4. IV

_**A/N: Happy Mother's Day to all of my readers and their beloved mothers, stepmothers, aunts, etc. I hope you all had a wonderful weekend  & that the 8th was well spent with your family members :)**_

 _ **In addition, I've dedicated this chapter especially for yesterday's special event. Chapter 4 will involve Yuna's mother and her relationship to the FanFiction. Enjoy!**_

 _ **Weekly Disclaimer: I do  not own Shugo Chara. All copyrights go to the manga author duo Peach-Pit. The only original characters that I do own so far are Hiroshi Yuna, Hiroshi Inada, Hiroshi Ayane, and Titania.**_

* * *

 _Chapter 4 - Reminiscence_

I hardly remember the face of my mother, but the gilt-framed pictures all over my father's condominium proved her stunning beauty. She died of an illness at a young age, several years after I was born when I was running around in first grade bawling with laughter. My father tells me that I share her eyes: colorless but aesthetic with passion, like stars twinkling in the night sky. Stubbornness, a keen mind, and the endearment for music supposedly originated from her also. Hearing all of the attributes of my mother had me wishing I'd known her longer, at least throughout my teenage years. Mostly to stick around with me when my father wasn't able to. He'd always fly across the world for business trips. But when I do get to see him, he's not always happy. I often hear him arguing with coworkers or businessmen with authority over him through the telephone. I assume his stress involves the absence of my mother, only because from the day of her death our relationship grew distant.

When my father _is_ happy, however, it's like I'm touring on cloud nine. We'd go out to eat proper delicacy, or stay home baking goods, and he'd occasionally take me to the dance studio while he watches me trip and fall as the music blares from the stereos. He'd bring me to places where my mother would've taken me.

But it seems all those days were coming to an end. The moment he brought me to Easter, the day he told me to pack up my belongings, he said I would only have to stay for the weekend while he's away for business. He said his apartment wouldn't be available for me, and wouldn't tell me why. It's been a month since I saw his face, the grinning face I'd see when I'd smudge cookie dough all over his chin.

My mother wouldn't have brought me to Easter. She never would, so why did he?

The first time I climbed out onto a roof, I was in elementary school and I was missing my mother. Every time my father said that the stars reminded him of her eyes and mine, I'd always think she was hiding in the dotted sky. When we lived in our previous home, I could never sleep. She'd always invade my dreams. I remember what it felt like to heave myself over the window ledge and then stand on shaking legs looking out over the compound alone, that no one knew where I was. It was like being reborn. For so long after my mother's death, I'd locked away my feelings, walk around in a blanket of numbness. But up there on that roof, I felt like I'd shaken off the blanket and was standing there naked. _Alive_. That's how I felt. Like anything was possible, because my mother was watching me from above. Like I could pluck parts of her, the stars, right out of the sky.

When I moved into the 29th floor of Easter, I arrived without any explanation. But the moment I discovered the roof vacant for me to explore, I banished all of my worries. I wouldn't leave after daydreaming at the sight of Tokyo's nightly concert of glistening lights. Standing thousands of feet in the air, letting the city and the sky submerge me. It's such a tranquil feeling, and I felt that it was the only way to cope with the deficiency of my mother.

But the presence of another human being–a boy, not much older than me, stands next to me admiring the same exact view that we both spend half our days contemplating. I never knew his story, or at least the details of it. From instinct, I knew from the desolate look in his eyes, he lost something, misses it, and he wants to recapture it. His dream of retrieving what was once lost. From this, I just knew, somewhere deep inside he understands me.

Or at least, he _did_.

* * *

I wake with a start, my eyes flying open and my heart exploding like an IED in my chest. It takes several seconds for me to get my bearings and to register that the sound that woke me was a large door shutting with an echoing slam. I hear voices, a commotion, clamoring in the distance. My hand glides over a hard surface, and I realize where I'm lying. I'm in a small room, tighter than the bathroom on the 29th floor, though the room isn't recognizable to me. It's definitely not a closet, since a small window is framed a foot above me, allowing sunlight to peek through the bars. My head palpitates with pain, and it's difficult for me to crane my neck in order to adjust my position. I wince as I try to gather myself, stumbling against the wall. Where exactly am I?

A half second after I process my surroundings, I can't compute which floor I'm on, or if I'm even in the Easter building at all. I squint at the glare through the opaque window. It's not morning anymore. It's mid-afternoon, judging from the position of the sun and the hue of the sky. I brush my hair out of my face and rub a hand over my eyes. I'm groggy, and my body feels like it's been run through a mangle. It's not surprising. I'm a filthy mess.

Memories flood into my head: the man in the yellow suit, the knife clattering onto the ground, Ikuto's brittle face, and the unfamiliar voice that called my name like a broken record.

 _Ikuto…_

That's right. I had a dream about my mother, her unseen face, and Ikuto was in it. He stood on the roof next to me with his vehement eyes, gandering out in the open for hours, just a few feet away from me. He didn't have to be near me to make me feel at ease, just knowing he was there felt as if I didn't need the presence of my mother anymore. It was just us two. I glanced at Ikuto, who propped himself against the lip of the roof, his arms resting against the bar, watching me closely, and I took a breath. I wanted to explain it to him in my slumber—the stimulation I felt from being at least twenty stories above the streets. I wanted him to understand, because of the slight glisten hidden in his eyes. But it backfired. His monotone voice snapped me like a twig, told me I was annoying, to stay quiet, or listen to what Easter says, and that maybe if I behaved I wouldn't have had to run away like a coward.

My eyes nearly sting from the reminiscence. Those words hurt me, like someone just fractured my heart into two. And the way his back faced me when I needed him the most. Damn him.

I hear another uproar of voices through the metal door, and I try to stand but nearly fall, having to balance myself against the wall as the muscles in my legs seize up. My knees start smarting from the grazes on them and my shoulder throbs violently. I feel like a walking headache.

"Are you alright, Yuna?" I hearken to a silvery voice coming from below.

I briskly spin around, my eyes fleeting all over the room. I almost startle myself with the inward squirming my stomach makes as soon as I catch a glimpse of something white resting in the corner of the room. My eyes widen in bemusement. It's the white egg that disappeared from my bedroom. How did it get in here? It abruptly quivers, and I jump back at the sight. My mind is whirring to take in the current situation.

"W-who said that?" I recklessly stammer, my eyes flying around the murky vicinity. My eyes skirt back towards the egg, and with no other choice I don't hesitate to cross the room to inspect it.

I kneel down to lift the egg to my face with both hands still as ice, and its aura instantly draws me closer. I can feel my eyes expanding with awe as I watch the golden wreath on the egg radiate with sunlight. Its warmth starts to envelop me like a blanket, and I have an instinct telling me to relax, to welcome this new feeling.

"Was it you?" I inquire the egg, and a part of me deliberates whether or not if I've gone insane.

I draw in a sharp inhale, watching as the egg suddenly floats above me, hovering for a brief moment before I listen to a sharp crack resound in the area. The egg pops open, revealing a body that suspends itself in the air before descending back into my hand. The white shells evaporate like magic, and I stare in awe at the small being that flips her platinum hair over her shoulder and smiles at me with a wide grin.

"Yes, of course." She lets out a laugh that's smooth as silk, and it shoots goosebumps up my arms. I nearly pinch myself in case I'm still lingering in a trance. I must be hallucinating. There's no way a human the size of a teacup dressed in an elegant toga and a golden laurel would be resting in my hands speaking to me at this moment. For God's sake, this thing has _wings_.

My eyes boggle out in perplexity. "W-what are you?"

My hands release themselves and it takes me a moment to realize that the little girl could fly, and she's helping herself to the rest of the space that's left in the room. I land on my bottom, my arms collecting my knees together. I find myself huddling in a corner, terrified of this being. I must be going crazy. I'm probably in a mental health institute, that's why the room is so plain and dark. What if everything else I imagined wasn't real? What if Ikuto and Nikaidou and the rest of Easter were just mirages?

The girl notices my behavior, judging from her eyebrows stitching together in distress. She approaches me with arms extended and makes an effort to coax me.

"Calm down, I'm not going to hurt you." She says with a slight frown, but soon exiles it and replaces it with a serene expression. "My name's Titania. I'm your Guardian Character."

My mouth nearly drops while I fix a stare at her with eyes of disbelief. "A... Guardian what?"

"Guardian Character." She nods and hovers closer to me. "We are spirits that are born from the egg of a child's heart, known as the Heart's Egg."

Titania points to my chest, where my abnormally pulsating heart is located. She places a tiny hand on that exact spot, and looks up at me with a small curl on her lip.

"Your dreams and hopes are what preserves your Heart's Egg. Your strong desire to be released and in control is what triggered your Heart's Egg to hatch into a Guardian Character."

 _To be released…?_

My mind suddenly recalls to the event between Nikaidou and I, brawling with our sore arms and legs—when I shrill at the top of my lungs for him to let me go, and I remember the voice that calls for me. It still takes me a moment to process my thoughts, that Titania was the one who shouted my name.

Titania draws even closer to me, to the point where we almost touch noses, but I don't flinch or move an inch. As the feathers of her wings tickle the sides of my cheeks, I'm suddenly free from all of my burdens, at ease, as if I'm being embraced by the arms of my own mother. The corners of my eyes burn from the resistance of tears when I allow her miniature fingers to wrap around my knuckles. She looks just like my mother—the portraits that I looked at everyday on the walls of my father's home. Her eyes are faded enough to match hers, like the shiny darkness found on a beetle's wing—sparkling and twinkling with zeal. I tighten my fists into a ball, clench my molars, and I feel an eruption occur at the bottom of my chest. A tear escapes from the corner of my eye, and I fix a lost stare at Titania. A cry churns at the peak of my throat. I wouldn't want my mother seeing me like this, so I bury my face in my knees, sobbing endlessly, without relief.

I feel Titania resting in my disheveled nest of hair as she caresses my forehead and listens to the devastation of my tears.

"It's why I was born." She says. A composed smile plays on her face.

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 _ **A/N:**_ ** _Thank you all for reading! Don't forget to press the follow/favorite button above to look forward to more content. I'd also appreciate a couple of reviews. I'm open to all criticism and feedback!_**


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